


The Ivory Rose in The Tarnished Cage

by JinxxTheInsomniac



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I need therapy, This was just something I threw together because Miraz is weirdly cool, i'm fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxxTheInsomniac/pseuds/JinxxTheInsomniac
Summary: Less than a day before the final battle between the Telmarines and the Narnians was to unfold, a secret invasion from the Telmarines reaped an unexpected fragment of Narnian lore.A Wood-Elf; A Shepherd of the Forests, and a nearly extinct breed of Elvish heritage due to their pacifist teachings.Miraz finds such a breed of forest-dweller... intriguing. At last, he mused, something of... common beauty.





	1. Chapter 1

The leather glove was dominating, yet deceptively soft as Ill’yeanna thrashed her face from his scrutiny. Blood trickled down the side of her lip, but her violet-tinted eyes still were wild and fearless as she glowered up at the looming sneer of the sadistic ruler. 

From behind, Caspian X, traitor-prince of the Telmar throne, was helplessly fighting against the guards which held him at bay, his ravenous snarling evidence that he was far from succeeding against the brutes.

“So it seems,” The Telmarine Lord announced to the various commanders sitting behind him. “That the Narnians have finally bred something of... common beauty.”

The men each shared a soft chuckle as Miraz circled the young prisoner-of-war having been collected from the looming forestry. She felt like a fly caught in the snare of a colony of spiders. At any moment one would attack, it was only a matter of time. 

Though she was small in stature, she remained rigid and unreadable; ‘like a soldier’, the witnesses would later mention, despite the immodest hazel shift giving the witnesses around her quite the wonderfully distracting spectacle. The aged cloth was hemmed at the tops of her toned, pale legs, belted around her slender hips by a bejeweled sash, and then knotted at the back of her neck behind her long, wavy hair, giving the men a deliciously unhindered gander at her entire back, down to the arc of her spine. A plethora of intricate runes were faintly depicted over various portions of her exposed flesh, though primarily frequented her shoulders, jawline, and calves.   

All in all, despite her alien appearance, the men could not rip their gazes away, some even contemplating the act of infidelity against their wives for the woman standing so provocatively before them.   

A moment later, and the illusion of fearlessness was abruptly desecrated as a sharp sting suddenly swiped at her backside. 

Miraz, who up until just now had simply been observing the small prize reaped from the early morning raid of the Narnian forests, had unabashedly smacked her with the breadth of his palm against her barely clad backside, eliciting a pleased outcry from the expeditors. 

It was to simply gauge a reaction from the captured maiden, but the sheer shock of the blow itself, rather than the meager shock of pain, was enough to send her reeling where she stood.  Her porcelain face became flushed with embarrassment as the cacophony of guffaws and lewd comments were sent her way.  In all of her long, relatively peaceful life, she had never been so disrespected, not even by the lowly humans with whom she seldom interacted with.

“Do-don’t touch her!” A heaving bellow resounded from Caspian, who now was pressed tightly against the ground by the mop of his hair. Sweat, dirt, and blood painted his clean-shaven, youthful features while his captors bludgeoned him mercilessly each time he spoke or cried out. 

“Let me go!” She whined before his other hand strayed up to her mouth with intent to silence her. It was only a split second, but it was enough, as Ill’yeanna abruptly sank her teeth into the leather, biting as hard as ever she had. 

The weathered fabric tore, and a metallic flavor bloomed on her tongue. Miraz’s shriek of pain was a victory-fanfare for the poorly hostage. 

Unfortunately, her celebration was short lived, as Miraz immediately threw the young girl to the dirt floor, his foot finding purchase against her ribs, twice, which caused her to cry out in pain as she haplessly clutched her middle.      

“And here I thought we were to be friends…” Miraz murmured in a velvety suave tone, his pitiless eyes scowling down at the fallen Fae-girl as she shamefully hid her face, tears welling in her glassy, round eyes. 

“But surely you don’t already know,” Miraz continued, his voice now distanced significantly from where Ill'yeanna cowered, “...that we Telmarines are not opposed to… our captives joining our bedsides while our brides are otherwise detained. I have decided that your wild spirit is exactly what I will savor in my bed this night, and most likely for many nights to come.” 

“No.” Ill’yeanna gasped, her breath still struggling to return to normal after the recent excursion. 

She quickly leapt to her feet, feeling quite small in comparison to the heavily adorned figures standing boastfully around her. A bulbous patrol-member having been summoned with a flourish of the Telmarine’s uninjured hand (the bite Ill'yeanna had granted him having finally been exposed, the prominent 'U’ shape standing out like a red satin banner.  It was a wonder that she hadn't revealed the bone, as the wound was remarkably deep.), And the soldier wasted no time in catching the girl's wrists in one beefy hand before clasping a heavy cuff around them, and winding the chain expertly around his fist like the leash of a common dog's. 

“How dare you! I command you to release me by order of the Sidhe, and the almighty Aslan!” Ill'yeanna spat as she thrashed against the soldier's stance, uncaring of the taunts and immortal compliments she was receiving from the observant officials.

Miraz’s humored laughter caused her blood to boil.  Caspian was silent, clearly either having been knocked unconscious or gagged.  
“You have no grounds to be commanding things from your superiors, bitch.” His attention diverted to the guard having captured the wild woman, his tone still furious and dark. “Have the girl be taken to my tent. Clean her up, get her into something that is more becoming of a Telmarine Mistress, and see to it that she doesn't stray away.  If there is to be any difficulty in completing my orders, have her be a token of my appreciation to my loyal warriors by leaving her to them, naked, and chained to a tree. A filthy Narnian should be honored to share my bedside, so by refusing my generous hospitality, reveals to me that the Narnians merely masquerade civility, but really are all naught more than impulsive animals.” 

His smile was like that of a serpent’s, moments before he leaned forward and pressed a possessive, hungry kiss against her lips, his teeth grazing against them briefly before he pulled back once more to survey her reaction.

Laughter resounded through the tent at the girl’s disgusted expression, her tongue now tasting of mead and whatever it was that he’d had for his last meal. She would’ve wiped her tongue along her sleeve if she were able, but the guard refused to release her arms from behind the iron shackles.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been a long time coming, but I will do my best to continue uploading a little more frequently than I have been now that the stresses of finding work and school have now come to an end. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There were no maidservants to assist in the precarious removal of Ill’yeanna’s gown, and that, among a plethora of other aspects, shook the young Fae-girl to her very core.

The sacred frock which had been delicately woven with a forest-green silk to fit her exact figure would surely tear if it was handled coarsely by the unruly droves she was made to accompany.  Unfortunately, during her trial to the Telmarine’s campsite, the rustic stylings of the humble dress itself were haplessly filthy, ash and dust now causing her to appear as a meager vagabond in comparison to her official status as a Sidhe-heir.  Now behold, as the once esteemed, benevolent ruler of the deep forests within Narnia was paraded crudely around like the spoils of a vanquished foe.  Various Telmarine soldiers would look up as she passed, some spitting in her direction while others taunted her with lewd commentary.  In her shame, Ill’yeanna shied her gaze from the mobs, using her unruly, matted locks to hide her otherworldly features from view.  The iron ruthlessly clasped around her wrists ached like a bruise being pressed, and she knew that the pain would only intensify the longer she had direct contact with the tainted metal.  Already the flesh skirting the stubborn metal was a deep red and felt feverish to the touch.    

Yet that fluctuating throb of her wrists did little to ease the onslaught of crude declarations regarding her unfortunate circumstances.  All of them had since heard of Miraz’s terms if she were to rebel against his orders, and were doing everything in their power to get under her skin and ensure that she might lash out against her assailants, and in turn, revoke the Telmarine King’s protection over her.  The very idea of being bedded by a mortal man was unspeakable in the eyes of the Fae, never mind being ruthlessly claimed by a multitude of the ravenous and unkempt dogs which these men existed as.  

No, Ill’yeanna noted as she was shoved into an empty tent made of burlap, these were not men at all, but the godless spawns of Hell.  Ill’yeanna wanted to cry but found that the seemingly trivial ability had been siphoned from her.  Upon being so harshly shoved into the poorly tent, the small woman fell in a great swoon, skidding against the dirt as she fell.  

Twisting her head around, Ill’yeanna sneered at her captors which caused a matching pair of smirks to emerge over their unshaven features.

“Strip.”

The young woman felt her heart pounding in her chest as though a bird were trapped beneath. Her fingertips reluctantly tended to the first set of ribbons which held together the bridge of her frock, but then stopped when she realized the guards were making no move to allow her the privacy she so desperately yearned for.

“Will you not look away?” She moaned, despite trying to sound civil.  Regardless of anything, she was still a Sidhe, and had to represent her people as they were; a fearless warrior-clan.  She would not surrender her pride for such measly and insignificant efforts but rather would emerge from her subjugation much stronger than before.

Or at least, that’s what she'd prayed would be the case.

The two guards having been the ones to drag her into the tent exchanged unprovoked glances as though they were telepathically offering their opinions on the matter.

“Lord Miraz ordered us to supervise you, and to that we hold.” The older guard growled, his hazel eyes sneering impatiently into her own, colorless ones.  “Now strip, unless you’d wish for us to do it for ye.”

A stupid smile grew along their waxy faces as they surveyed her visible discomfort. Her nimble fingers trembled with the laces tying her gown together at the front, but soon, the last one fell, causing the cloth gown to fall like a great stream of water before pooling at her ankles. 

There she stood, stark naked as the guards ogled her youthful figure with uncensored glee.  

“What is it that I shall wear in place of my gown?”  Her scrawny arms did little to censor herself as she struggled to maintain an air of dignity.  

“Now, now, be patient.  You still need to be bathed,” The burly guard coughed, his arousal visible despite the heavy chainmail encapsulating his torso.

“Yeh… would hate to have your new clothes muddied by your Narnian grime--.”

That’s when a bucket of frigid water laden with a pitiful collection of beige suds was suddenly dumped over her head, the guard’s bare hands quickly lunging forward to caress her flesh under the guise of ‘washing her’.

Soon, she was a whimpering, shivering mess, her teeth clattering as she hunched and cowered away with the hopes of offering even the slightest amount of protection against the harsh elements.

“She’s clean.” The guard announced proudly, after his bulbous fingers gave one final swipe of the prominent slit between her legs.  Ill’yeanna jerked away from the touch, but had no more strength to fight against the relentless groping she'd endured.

A small shred of cloth was thrown at her, obviously intended for her to use as a towel, and like an obedient child, she set to wiping away the rivulets still draining down her alabaster flesh.  By now she was so cold her efforts were clumsy and mechanical until she would frequently drop the dampened fabric to the ground, inevitably giving her superiors a full view of her curvaceous arse when she would go about picking it up once more.

Finally, she was deemed dry enough to be dressed in a gown which had been pre-approved by Lord Miraz, himself.

It was a simplistic, eggshell gown; the hem dipping low in the back, but leaving the front entirely exposed with naught more than a golden string entwined between.  Her breasts were put on full display by the loose, frilly fabric, and by this point, Ill’yeanna could only speculate that this gown was intended for the night of a Telmarine Wedding; wherein the husband would lay claim to his new bride’s favors away from the scrutiny of others.

Despite her forlorn efforts, the skirt would not surpass even the tops of her kneecaps, and the thought that she would have to exit the tent once more, and endure the dozens of soldier’s relentless endeavors to intimidate her caused bile to burn at the back of her throat.

Only now, at this leg of the efforts necessary to be presented to Lord Miraz, did she feel as though she was betraying her kin.  Despite her conscious attempts at finding a reason to hate the newly fashioned garb, she could not deny its simplistic beauty.  She would've been honored to wear it for any other company other than the one it was designated for. 

Once more, the tent flaps opened to permit Ill'yeanna's departure first, and that was when the understanding of what was to come had hit Ill'yeanna full force. 

In a hushed whisper, barely louder than a springtime breeze, Ill'yeanna found herself pleading for mercy; 

“If it is by Aslan’s grace, let my body be struck down dead before I am to be bedded by this wretched tyrant.” She whispered deftly to herself, her face shining as she once more was exposed to the harsh cruelties of her enemy’s droves.

 

The massive tent overlooking the valley stood on a cliffside, the imposing grey almost mocking the overcast of clouds serving as its backdrop.  Ill’yeanna was gruffly shoved to the ground of the tent’s interior, over a fur pelt which served to carpet the icy earth.  Without a moment for the young elf to collect her bearings, her shackles were unceremoniously removed, only to be replaced with a sturdy leather strap.

Now her arms were loosely embracing the supporting pillar of the tent, the leather providing little comfort for her abused wrists.  The guards departed quickly afterwards, leaving Ill’yeanna to her near-silent surroundings.

There was only a single fragment of light to shine into the prosperous tent, the scant amount preventing Ill’yeanna’s eyes from adjusting properly.  Yet soon, she noticed a table towards the opposite end of the tent, a grand throne concealed just behind which boasted a great amount of detail, despite what limited amount she could observe.  A fur bed stood at the left, a grand cacophony of pillows collected at one side.  Lastly, there was a wooden bookshelf which hosted a variety of thick books, all appearing as ancient as Narnia herself, and a chest which surely concealed what uniforms Miraz had brought from his grand palace.

Panic writhed up her spine upon the approaching chatter of a man.

Her struggles became more frantic as metallic footsteps began to crunch against the frosty earth outside.

A quick yank of the tent’s curtains revealed the aged face of the man who’d sentenced all of Narnia’s denizens to death with a mere wave of his gauntlet.

Ill’yeanna wanted to scream, shout, curse, anything to avert this creature’s penetrating gaze from her.  But all she could do instead was stare in fearful bewilderment.

He let out a soft snort of amusement before adjourning to the tent where the bookcase and the strongbox stood in wait.  With an air of fatigue compelling his movements, the middle-aged Telmarine began removing his armor piece by piece; starting with his crown and gauntlets, and ending with the shirt of chainmail having been all but concealed beneath.  Now, finally, in his underthings, he seemed almost... pitiful.

With a calm air concealing his thoughts, Miraz poured himself a goblet of wine before sitting against a crate few feet from the concubine cowering in fear before him.

Silence hung between them as Miraz took a long sip of the beverage in his palm.

“Your people are used to being the most powerful of the forests, yes?” Miraz inquired rhetorically.  “that is why you are struggling to accept defeat, even as you are here before me, bound and at my mercy.”

Ill’yeanna said nothing, her eyes averted towards the entryway which mocked her with how close it was. 

“I will grant that your people have served as a great struggle for my men to capture, to the point that we believed that you were merely ghost-stories told to frighten children." Miraz seemed almost awed at such a proclamation, even as he spoke it. "If you'd but come forward, I would've granted your people asylum to avoid any unnecessary casualties."  

Ill'yeanna spat as though having bitten into something sour. 

"We refuse to break bread with man.  You are naught but dogs who should have never trespassed into Narnia." Her voice was determined and pitiless as her opal eyes glared up at her captor.

Miraz, in turn, lowered himself until his hollow, pitiless gaze was burning directly into her.  Like a wolf's muzzle, his lips curled into a fiendish grimace.

 "Who is the one waiting at the mercy of my judgment?" He taunted, "Who would do well to hold her tongue in my presence seeing as I could easily have her at the mercy of the countless others waiting just outside?  I'd hate to know just how eager they all must be to savor the pleasures of a woman after so many months of celibacy.  I doubt they will find your filthy Narnian heritage to be of consequence if I were to give them permission to defile you in every way they saw fit." 

His gaze darkened with something that went even deeper than lust. "Shall I give the order?"

Ill'yeanna was frozen with terror at the promise of his tone, and thankfully Miraz took her silence as adequate rather than forcing her to vocalize her reluctant subjugation and thereby further tarnishing her dignity.            

The brief hiss of metal revealed a small dagger from Miraz's belt. "My men have treated you like a prisoner when you are a guest in my house.  If I may?”

Ill’yeanna watched with dubious uncertainty, her eyes glancing at both the blade’s tip and the one holding it.  He was scrutinizing the leather bindings ensnared over her wrists as though they would loosen on their own by the determined will of the Telmarine King. 

“You won’t escape here alive if you do decide to run.” He declared, the grip of his blade unwavering even as he spoke.  With the sting of broken pride lancing through her, Ill’yeanna allowed the dagger’s tip to cut the leather from her wrists.  Relief was evident on her features as she inconspicuously began to massage her blotchy arms.  Refusing to stand, even as the opportunity presented itself, Ill'yeanna shied away from the impending gaze which encapsulated the Telmarine's every feature. 

“Tell me,” Miraz iterated, the flat of the dagger now gently pressing beneath the young woman's chin to return her averted gaze to his.  “How many more Narnians must fall before my rule is accepted?”

Scorn detailed her porcelain features, “You will never win if but one true Narnian draws breath.  The existence of one proves that you have not, nor will you ever, win.  You still have powerful enemies, _my liege_.”  She mockingly emphasized the title even as the dagger gently prodded the flesh of her neck. 

            Miraz did not rebuke the girl for her fiery temperament but rather desired her to reveal more of her stubborn will to him so that he might feel even more victorious when he, at last, tore it from her with every definition of the word depravity.

Ever since that moment in the open-walled tent that oversaw the developments of his battlegrounds, wherein the girl had been ruthlessly dragged and presented for the generals and chieftains, he'd been enthralled by her determined wit.  Not even a single moment went by throughout the duration of that day where he didn’t think about laying claim to her.  The unrelenting desire to steal away the resolve of the young Narnian drove him near to insanity. She would serve him as any Telmarine servant would, and she would be grateful that he spared her from the chopping block that was so destined for any found within the wilds of Narnia's borders.   And then, when she’d given him all she had; body, mind, and soul, he would dispose of her, leaving her to search for the comfort of a civilization which no longer existed.  His cock ached from the carnal lust he felt for the reaping of this Narnian’s virtue;  the poor little thing probably didn’t even know what sex was.

“You would do well to hold your tongue, bitch.” He snapped, his eyes widening threateningly.  He held out the goblet to her, as though offering it as a token of friendship. 

Ill’yeanna reached towards it, having been denied any sort of sustenance for some time now, only to have Miraz pull it away, quirking his eyebrow for a split second.  That’s when he held it towards her face, and Ill’yeanna meekly leaned forward, taking the rim of the goblet into her mouth before allowing the Telmarine to pour it.

A considerable amount emptied down her chin and dribbled down her chest as she strained to swallow the dry flavor, coughing and heaving once she’d finished.  Miraz’s amusement was clear as she haplessly wiped at her chest and neck.  The wine had already stained the frock, which further intrigued Miraz as he entertained the idea of licking her pearly flesh clean.

            “Come here.” He hissed, motioning for the small girl who froze in shock at his command.  Upon reaching out to her with an opened palm, she shied away like a wounded dog, her colorless eyes downcast and fearful.  So much for the determination she’d enacted less than an hour before; how shamed did her ancestors feel from her quick surrender?    

            “I said,” He reiterated, his eyes becoming dark.  “Come _here_.”

            With that, he rose from the crate he'd been sitting against and grabbed Ill’yeanna by her battered wrist, throwing her onto the pile of furs which made up his bed.  A scream caught in her throat as she tried desperately to crawl away, only to be pinned down by his hips which rutted against hers with an almost carnal need.  He rolled her over to face him before allowing his calloused fingers to grasp either side of the flimsy cloth which made up her gown.  With a soft grunt of his throat, the dress came apart with an ear-splitting shred of fabric, exposing her fully to him. 

            His mouth was agape as his half-lidded eyes beheld the perfection before him.  Not a single hair stood to mar her porcelain features, as they did the numerous other women he’d taken to his bedside. It was as though she was made of pure cream. That's when his palms began to explore, his lips and teeth relishing in the divine flavor of her skin as he sought to brand her as his.  Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands, as did her buttocks. 

Meanwhile, tears trailed idly down the sides of her face as she stared off into the creases of the tent far above.  Even as his coarse hands roamed her supple figure, she would not respond with much more than a soft whimper or a flinch when he bit down against a tender patch of flesh.   Her expression refused to give away any sense of fear or pain, for she was a warrior, and warriors stared at fear directly and without restraint.

            That was, until he’d begun approaching her womanhood, which appeared intact, and so unlike what he was accustomed to.  Her reaction was one he’d been seeking, which was a reflexive clench of her thighs as she struggled to close herself from his view.  She jerked up into a sitting position, which Miraz halted with a shove of his palm.  Her hands flew out to escape his shameless invasion, but that only furthered the pleasure he felt from watching her destitute struggles.  Her screams were like honey in his ears as she pleaded and begged for anyone's attention. 

            That was until he'd shoved his index finger into her, working it against her until his knuckle was all that remained visible.  She cried and carried on with desperate abandon, her every gasp causing her breasts to heave deliciously.   

“You haven’t been with anyone, have you?” He murmured, glancing up into her colorless eyes as she continued to plead for mercy that she obviously knew would never come.

When a coherent response would not address his question, his palm fell against her face, creating a prominent red streak across her cheek.

“You’ve never been with anyone…” His statement was direct, and no longer a question.

Wearily, she shook her head, her eyes glistening.  “No…”

A determined smile graced his haggard features before a second finger joined the first, causing Ill’yeanna to become rigid as she was forced to welcome the intrusion.  Miraz allowed his fingers to curve upward into her before pumping them in and out.  As he had anticipated, the efforts he pursued garnered the desired result, and her body accepted his advances with less resistance.  Her body trembled with the oftentimes gruff ministrations, but by this point, she didn’t cry out anymore.

That’s when Miraz had begun stroking his engorged manhood which had since become quite uncomfortable given what little stimulation he’d permitted himself. While the young elfin girl was left without any idea of what would soon happen, he abruptly flipped her around so that her face was pressed into the furs and her arse was spread open to him.

            “No, please!” She begged, as he immediately forced her buttocks apart and rammed into her with much vigor.

            A torrent of sensations flooded the Telmarine ruler, so much so that he quite nearly came at the initial penetration of the young woman.  She was so tight it was as though she was clenching a fist around his manhood.

            Ill’yeanna however, was sobbing, obviously in a great deal of pain as she writhed and twisted beneath him with the desperate need to find some semblance of relief.  It was as though she were being torn apart from the inside out, and it became so unbearable that she had gone to pleading for mercy by The Telmarine ruler's name. 

 "Please! My Lord, Miraz, please stop! I beg of you! It hurts too much--!" A fit of sobs accentuated her last words as she buried her face in the furs beneath her. 

Yet with every cry, the woman elicited, even through the use of his namesake (which would've regularly been answered with the speaker's immediate execution), Miraz's movements only quickened and hardened against her fleshy, round arse. With his arms braced on either side of her shoulders, he then reached forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked it, causing her pleas to turn into slurred cries of sheer, unbridled pain. As he continued to thrust into her abused cunt, he felt a warm wetness accumulating from her. This only furthered his sadistic ministrations as he leaned forward and bit into the tender flesh of her neck.  That would surely leave a mark. 

"Is that blood between your legs? Or arousal? Hm? Tell me, you little whore." He coughed into her ear, his fist refusing to relinquish any amount of hair still woven between his fingers.  With that, he fell against her so that his body completely engulfed hers, his teeth biting her neck and shoulders until red and purple splotches began revealing themselves against her frame.  That's when his palms crushed around her slender hips, using them as leverage to further his movements.  Soon, his hips began to pivot in and out of her, driving him wild with each thrust.  It wouldn't be much longer. 

"Little bitch--." He slurred loudly into her pointed ear before biting it, "You're going to make me burst into you, do you hear me? You'll be mine to fuck and cum into, and you will love it.  You will hate whenever I refuse to cum inside you and beg me to fuck you-- Agh!" 

Ill'yeanna, despite his wretched promises to her, felt her body tightening like a corkscrew.  It was such a foreign feeling that it blocked out all other sensations, even his relentless violation of her body.  Her breaths came out in huffs as her skin abruptly felt cold yet hot to the point that goosebumps engulfed her flesh. 

That was when Miraz let out the loudest moan yet, and then slumped against her, effectively pinning her down against the stiff furs.  Ill'yeanna could feel a rhythmic throb between her legs, and despite her limited knowledge of the mortal's sexual appetites, knew that she was forever tarnished from that moment onward. 

Even as Miraz laid spent against her, she regretted the moment his manhood slid out from between her legs, and a small cascade of foreign fluids were expelled from her. 

Somehow, deep down, as the shame of the events having unfolded within such a short while came to a head, Ill'yeanna knew that she would never return home the same elfin as she'd left.   

           


End file.
